


Disadvantage

by wickedrum



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil wants to see with his own eyes whether the threats to Mirkwood are as serious as Tauriel claims them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ring a Ring o' Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [platonios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonios/gifts).



> (Who wanted a fic about a self-sacrificing Thranduil.)

Disclaimers: Unfortunately I don’t own a Lee Pace or any of these characters. Written for enjoyment only.  
Set: Post-Hobbit.  
Warning: Unless you like pure, unadulterated hurt/comfort for the sake of it, it’s unlikely you will understand the point to this fic.  
Mood(LJthrowback): Feisty

Chapter 1: Timber

Tauriel was used to bumping into spiders and trolls and orcs on a regular basis, especially when patrolling the peripheries of Mirkwood. Half-orcs and easterlings were a lot rarer to counter, but it was a mixed group of those two races that surprised them in the South where they have been trying to safeguard the security of a passage to Lorien, that was supposed to stay accessible. Despite being busy with aiming her arrows at the attackers that had not engaged in close combat yet, Tauriel’s first thought was with the king. Whatever their losses will be at the end of the skirmish, the bodies of the enemies will serve as perfect testimony for her to try to convince Thranduil again to allow troops to venture further as Sauron’s forces were doing the same, stepping further and further into Mirkwood. If he elves didn’t start being more proactive, they would soon be overrun and then it would be too late. The redhead had so far been relatively meek after her reinstatement into the role of captain of the guard as she was well aware of how lenient and understanding the ruler had been with her. Her months in the dungeons and working in the kitchens had been for what it felt like was show for the sake of there being some evidence of punishment before Thranduil decided that Tauriel was best doing service to the crown by resorting to what she was really good at, patrol and combat. So up to this point, the Silvan had only ventured small comments aimed at the king, attempting to sway his mind about taking interest in what was going on outside the borders of his land, but after this, after having to watch her comrades being slain senselessly by creatures that had come so far from their fatherland just to cause misfortune and suffering, surely she would not be able to keep her mouth shut. 

The warrior maiden drew her fighting knives, her arrows all gone and engaged in a physical confrontation with one of the muscular, orc-like beings that blocked every one of her jabs with a shield with a red eye painted on. It wasn’t going well. Instead of being able to get to help her companions, she was engaged at close range with this stubborn crossbreed and his annoying scimitar that had already rid Tauriel of one of her own daggers. 

Tied down, she was only half aware of who had fallen and how many, but she could not miss the growing numbers of the enemy. Any more of this, and she would have to order retreat. But where, honestly where did Duilin and Feren come from? The king’s personal, palatial guards? It was good to know they weren’t outnumbered anymore, but Tauriel was still cornered against the trunk of a hefty tree even though she had managed to stab her initial assailant-there were three in his place now and she had only one weapon left to wield in all directions. Her left side would be open, she knew that, but there was nothing she could do about it as she ducked to avoid a spear and utilise her blade that found the opening between two plates of one of the dark creature’s armour. The killing would come at a price, an injury from her exposed flank she mentally braced herself for, but it never came. 

Instead, she reversed into something smooth and soft and gasped, turning to stare into the cerulean, widening eyes of her king for a moment before they broke apart to deal with their respective attackers. No longer surrounded, the woodland elf found it a lot easier to make use of her remaining dagger, using the space to her advantage to roll into advantageous positions for her weapon to find flesh for its lethal dance. A few brief clashes down, Tauriel had to look around and search for an adversary now. There were few and far in between left and those were fleeing too. The forest born warrior maiden paused and surveyed the devastation, unable to hunt any more of the culprits and for the first time had time to contemplate the reason behind the strange appearance of their rescuers, Thranduil and his personal guard. Her eyes searched for the royal, who she spotted standing erect, pulling one of his long, bloodied swords out of a beserker. She aimed her steps towards him, intending to point out how right she had been all along about darkening foreign horizons having an effect inside their forest, but Feren got there first, practically shoving the redhead out the way to reach out for his king, touch him by the arm and encircle his form at the back. It was startling and curious to see, no one touched the king under usual circumstances.

“My Lord,” Feren puffed, out of breath himself, “you need to lie down so we can take the dagger out quick,” he instructed, providing the support in the back for his king to lean on, “it’s probably poisoned”. That was the moment Tauriel saw it, the blade, curved and short, not unlike her own, sticking out of Thranduil’s side. The very same that one of her prior attackers wielded. Most of his companions had spears, axes, pikes and brandishes so it was not hard to single it out. She had expected that ridged blade to slice her flesh, but Thranduil by some means saved her from the blow by the tree trunk. She only understood now how.

Stunned and distressed, Tauriel froze to the spot and only watched as her king and saviour was lowered to the ground, not objecting to the treatment or as much as bending his legs. As soon as Feren’s hands were holding him strong, he more or less collapsed backwards into the fretting guard’s arms as if a plank would’ve been pulled out from under his feet, weak and limp and so fragile looking coming out from nowhere that the warrior elven maiden also paled considerably at the sight, dizzy with the implications of what had happened and wracked with shock at the revelation-Thranduil, ostensibly cold-hearted and detached Thranduil, manifold in the wrong and hiding behind his walls in a cowardly manner, unconcerned for other people’s welfare Thranduil-the king has ventured on an avoidable trek through the forest, salvaged her mission, her team and had taken a dagger for her. 

It had taken a mere few moments till she came to her senses, but it felt like an eternity, elves hustling to their fallen comrades all around her as if in slow motion. Why would Thranduil take a hit for her out of all his subjects? However, instinct told her it was not a time for reflection, but action, and time felt as if it was speeding up abruptly. The king could not afford to lose any if they wanted him to live. Quick on her feet, Tauriel was still the second person to reach her king and fall to her knees beside him, attesting that she hadn’t in fact spend much time frozen despite how she had experienced it. Her hands spontaneously extended towards the wound, gushing blood now that the obstruction jamming the blood vessels was gone, but stopped before making contact, fingers shaking hesitantly. Thranduil was breathing heavily, exacerbating the flow, eyes steeled against the pain and mouth open in an intentionally quiet gasp. He was holding strong, but with that amount of blood loss, it wouldn’t last. 

“You need to let it bleed as much as possible, get rid of some poison,” Feren warned, but of course she knew that. The move was the last of her indecisiveness before she took charge. “We have a good supply of athelas at the caverns. Where’s his mount?” Tauriel questioned. She found it very unlikely that the king would have come out here on foot. “I will ride with him,” she ascertained. Feren opened his mouth, half intending to argue-why should the traitor, once attacker of Thranduil, be entrusted with such a crucial task, but then he thought better of it. Nobody knew the forest and its paths better than Tauriel, she would take the shortest way accessible on a horse. Besides, the king trusted her enough to restore her position in the army.

The new replacement steed was brought forward from its shelter behind a tight group of trees, a lighter, younger, smaller elk that had shown promise in terms of speed, instruction, valour and keeping steady in chaos. Thranduil grabbed hold of the top, leather part of Tauriel’s dress and made a straining attempt to pull himself upright into a sitting position, grunting as he succeeded. His whistling his elk over sounded wet and faltering, but the animal edged closer all the same, antlers low and his stance wary. “How many injured?” Thranduil breathed haltingly. 

“We don’t know yet, my lord,” Feren looked around his comrades, mainly to appease him, “but I will make sure everyone is cared for as required,” he promised, knowing his king will not depart till he was reassured about the safety of his people.

“We will send back reinforcements,” Tauriel promised as well, working along with the bodyguard, “it’s one reason why we should hurry back.”

Feren shed his cape, “we shall use this to secure him to the elk,” he offered the item to the redhead.

Thranduil waved him off, “I will ride unaided,” he ascertained, making Tauriel roll her eyes as they helped him to his feet. Whether he could stand, they didn’t get the chance to determine-the elk treaded closer and lowered his head, offering his antlers to hang on to, as if understanding the situation. A great replacement for the fallen royal steed then. 

The elvenking used the provided backing to edge round the intelligent animal and clamber into the saddle, more sliding up on his stomach, than climbing, but succeeding to right himself slowly, gradually, eyes momentarily closing as he swallowed against his rising nausea. His entire left side felt as if on fire, the numbness of impending paralysis stemming from the anguish. Cramps were stirring in his belly and his head was bursting with pressure. His subjects will not see him falter however, it had been demeaning enough when his legs gave out on him when the initial shock of the poison hit. Thranduil sat panting, all of his attention focussed on trying to get his body to obey him so he could stay upright. He didn’t even notice Tauriel mounting behind him, or the cape being wrapped around him despite his previous command for not being so. The motion of setting off however, kick-started the cramps and he bit his lips, not being able to help it, but fall backwards, lean against Tauriel and gasp, breaths coming in short, weak gasps. Her hands tightened around him and he closed his eyes, letting her guide the animal, take over. All he could do was trying to make it through one moment and maybe the next without crying out in agony.

Tbc


	2. Drop

Chapter 2: Drop

“Stop…Tauriel…Please…Stop...I can’t…It hurts…I order you to stop…” Thranduil begged with every breath. The elk’s gallop was excruciating on the uneven ground, each stride of a hoof causing a jolt of pain starting at his wound and stabbing all the way through him, cramps so forceful he’d lost all control over his muscles. Only his captain’s grip and being tied to the saddle kept him in place, whimpers and small cries escaping his lips between intelligible fragments. 

“You know I can’t stop,” Tauriel explained unwearyingly. The older elf wasn’t in his right mind and needed the patronising. “Your life depends on whether we get you the needed care quickly enough,” she substantiated, hoping that the goal would help Thranduil focus on something other than the pain as well. 

Thranduil quietened for a little if the laboured breathing didn’t count, his head lolling to the side as he gave into his fate. Tauriel took a glance at his pale face, wishing for recognition of her reasoning in his features, but all she found was a drained, suffering soul, unable to fight her. The silken feel of his robe under her fingers was lost, the clothing item was saturated with blood and became squelchy and too slick to the extent that the Sylvan started to worry she would lose her grip on him. His breath was erratic and he could no longer plead. That look she spared him, taking in the condition he was in, made her realise just how grave his injury was. It was her that started to beg this time, urging the elk to run, pleading with Thranduil to hang on. The journey was a complete blur, she had one thought that occupied her mind besides the instinctive directing and managing the animal on the right path, and that was the king most likely dying in her arms before she reached the caverns and it being the result of her culpability.

Mercifully, the watch system of the main elven settlement in Mirkwood worked-sentries spotted and heralded their arrival and so a small group of healer already awaited their appearance as soon as they have gotten under the cover of the elvenking’s halls. She let them take her burden, numb and dazed, devastation screwing a bolt deep into her heart. The momentum of the hustle around her pulled her off the elk as well, but then she just stood there, shaken and distraught. It took a few shakes of her shoulders from the chief healer till she focussed on the older elf. “Looks like orc poison. Is there anything else we should know?” The mage specialised in healing pressed. 

“It was deep. The wound is deep,” she cried, “I thought he would hold on, why isn’t he holding on?”

The elf in charge of the king’s wellbeing grunted disapprovingly at her and thenceforward disregarded her, focussing on moving the king somewhere where they could treat him as Tauriel didn’t seem cogent enough to be of any use anymore. A tall brunette approached her instead, one of the few other female members of the guard. “Are you injured?” The newcomer placed a hand on Tauriel’s arm, concerned.

“No. No, I’m not injured, Nanthel,” the captain shook her head, “none of this is my blood,” she looked down at herself in panic. Everything from her boots to the leather straps of her quiver had been bathed in the red liquid. 

The older guard brought her palm to her mouth, evidently shocked by the blood loss from the most likely source, “oh. Oh, our king,” she cried compassionately, like possibly everyone in court would be when they found out. 

Driven by astonishment at the turn of the events, the ginger one blurted out what shocked her the most, “he saved me. He saved me perchance at the cost of his life and yet he saved me,” she repeated, uncomprehending, “why would he do that? Why sacrifice himself for a lowly Silvan elf?” She questioned, “not as much as parents to tell of my heritage.”

Nanthel pressed her fingers to her mouth, unnerved. “You were never just a lowly Silvan elf,” she stated after managing to compose herself enough, “not to our Lord Thranduil.”

“On the contrary. You don’t know how he talks to me. Skills and position doesn’t truly make anyone not lowly,” Tauriel argued, getting angry. Why did Thranduil need to stand in the way of a blade intended for her? She’s rather he didn’t. Who would want the burden of being responsible for killing the king?

“The king has never treated you like the rest of us, you are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“I’ve earned my place,” the redhead ascertained perplexed, though she wasn’t quite sure who she was trying to convince with the firm statement. The king’s words and actions sometimes contradicted each other. 

“Your archery and tracking skills are exemplary that none other than our Prince Legolas can match, but you were held with regard before developing those skills. Everyone saw you as the king’s ward, don’t you know that? He’d personally found you in the forest and took to you immediately. You went everywhere where the prince went, were bequeathed with everything the prince had, shown all craft he had been taught as if you’d been his majesty’s daughter.”

“I was the same age as the prince. Kept for companionship. There weren’t any other children round the same age.” The archer stared for a moment, troubled. So did people think her skills came from being given an exceptional, princely education? All she had been getting from Thranduil over the last century was rejection and reminders of where her real place was. However, this was not the time to argue that, there were more important matters, “hand me the map of Mirkwood,” she pointed towards Nanthel’s side. Most guards would have a copy of that, bar Tauriel, who knew the forest better than most. She unrolled the chart and poited, “here. You must lead a rescue party for the rest of our injured.” Then, she ran. There was no more of this conversation she could take with the king’s blood on her, on her hands, she couldn’t have that, it made her feel agitated and guilty. She had to get rid of it. In her room, Tauriel hurled off every bit of clothing she had on, in panic, and scrubbed at her skin with the water from the container they kept in living quarters for heating for particularly cold days. The redhead wanted every last particle gone, all reminders erased, the day’s events forgotten. Her rattled mind did not calm, not until her skin was pink from rubbing and all the water spilled. Pausing due to the inability to scrub further, Tauriel’s concentration broke , eyes brimming with tears. She could not change anything, bar finding out how the king fared. Robing into the simplest, one colour green dress resembling a servant’s that she could find, the maiden rushed towards Thranduil’s chambers. She slowed down as she got closer however, fearful of the news she might receive. There was a lot of commotion there, not so much the servants being useful, but everyone’s curiosity and concern for their king getting the better of them and compelling them to gather round his green, wooden door. The warrior maiden had to slow down further to side-step courtiers and advisors and soldiers, all conversing in hushed tones as if being quiet would be of any help for the wounded.

“Tauriel!” A lady dressed in white and silver spotted her. She was generally serving in the Halls as the overseer of all servants. 

“What happened?!” Asked a builder, now that people’s attention was drawn to the new arrival. 

“You were supposed to protect the king! Aren’t you his guard!” The court’s minstrel accused out and out. 

“How could this happen!” A fellow musician joined in. 

Tauriel froze, all her ginger feistiness draining out of her at the accusations. Cause they were right weren’t they? The angry, stumped faces were justified. She found herself unable to form a sentence and defend herself, the quick, shallow breaths she was taking making her lightheaded. All she wanted to do was get through that door and know that the king would survive. But feeling cornered, she could not advance, just look from one to the other, contemplating whether she should draw her sword to make a point.

“His Highness is calling for you Captain Tauriel!” Galion stood in the wooden door everyone would’ve liked seeing behind. He added a hand gesture to wave her over at once. The ginger haired elf bowed her head, nodding and made her way bashfully through the crowd that hesitantly made room for her. It was the second time Thranduil saved her that day. The moment she disappeared, voices of incredulity swept through the gathering-the king clearly favoured the archer and they didn’t even know the half of how his injury occurred.

Tbc


	3. Question Marks

Chapter 3: Question Marks

Withal, Tauriel was just as dumbfounded about the king’s actions that day as the rest of them when witnessing his centuries’ long favouritism. She had been to a great extent aware that she had been lucky enough to partake in experiences that were closer to the royal way of life than a mere subject’s, but she had always attributed that to Legolas’ attachment to her. And since Legolas had left, yes, she had been forgiven for her rash behaviour during the whole Thorin and dwarf affair, but again, she had attributed that to the prince’s stark warnings against his father harming her. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Had the king really favour her for some reason? Were his occasional harsh words to her just for decoy? And if he did favour her in some way, was it for Legolas’ sake, regarding her as something akin to a daughter or was it for some entirely different reason. Was it even true? Tauriel edged towards the poster bed, not actually daring to look at the faces of the healers or even at what they were doing. She glanced to Galion instead, “is there hope?” She swallowed, trepidation clutching her heart. 

“You would know better than me,” the faithful servant held, fearful and in doubt himself. 

“He called for me?” Tauriel started, steeling and readying herself for the encounter.

Galion winced, “well, he repeated your name raptly, but we weren’t sure. He doesn’t seem conscious otherwise,” he gestured apologetically. 

“Tauriel.” The archer’s head snapped up, gaping openmouthed at the sound. She could hear the manner Thranduil said her name with her own ears and everything suddenly made even less sense than before. The voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and pained and there was so much desperation attached to it that the Silvan froze, her heart breaking with the sound. 

“Step forward, lass,” chief healer Reluvethel urged impatiently. Taking one step back to get hold of her, he practically pushed her to stand by the bed, presenting her with the sight of the king for the first time since she’d entered. 

It seemed that the healers had done a quick job of patching him up, at least as far as appearances went. Thranduil had been ridded of his bloodied clothing, cleaned to as pristine as Tauriel was herself and dressed in a silken, silver wrap that was left open at the front for access to his wound, tightly wrapped in curative compresses, the scent of kingsfoil in the air. Motionless and with his skin turned greyish-blue, he looked distinctly dead. If it wasn’t for her name being whispered earlier, the archer would’ve not doubted the king’s departure from this world. She couldn’t even discern the rise and fall of his bare chest to convince herself of him breathing. “What. What are his odds?” Tauriel finally dared to ask the experts.

Reluvethel took a moment to reply and that was answer enough in itself. “The wound was too deep for us to reach all the way inside. He will have to fight some of the poison’s effects on his own.”

Tauriel knelt, stricken, touching the back of his hand with her forehead. “Why.” She whispered. “Man agorel? What did I deserve such generosity of spirit with? Take it back, why don’t you take it back?” She cried, even if aware of it being impossible. 

Thranduil’s fingers quivered under her lips and his head moved the tiniest bit, tilting in her direction. “Tauriel?” He questioned the name this time, voice breaking with the effort. 

Still startled by his insistence, she raised her head a little and stroked the back of his hand, “I am here, hir vuin.”

To the elven maiden’s astonishment, a rare, small smile formed on the ruler’s lips, unlikely as it was in any circumstances, let alone the current. “I wish to…” He panted, his breathing noticeable now that he struggled to speak, “be alone with…with…”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Reluvethel soothed, putting a palm on Thranduil’s shoulder, fearing he might try to move. But he heeded the order and nodded at his two assistants to depart. “Tauriel, an ngell nin, take good care of him, will you.” He appealed to her before obeying the king’s command.

Thranduil grunted, gathering his strength to open his dazed eyes and link them with Tauriel’s petrified ones. “I don’t mind dying,” he pacified her reassuringly, though he did not seem comfortable with what was happening during the possible process. 

“My magic may be fairly weak in comparison to the healers’, but allow me to adjoin it to the efforts,” she reasoned and set a palm on his solar plexus, close to the wound, and started chanting a healing spell, binding her will with it, “mellon nín a hûn  
Ui el i na dannen ann nín  
O’ leithon gur...” She didn’t reach the end however as the king’s hand entwined with hers on his chest and squeezed, attracting her attention. 

Thranduil moaned and whimpered, thrusting his head back. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but drew sharp breaths in, trying to speak through it, “listen.” He shook his head, not wanting her to concentrate on the spell, but him. 

Intuitively understanding his will, Tauriel ran a hand over his arm reassuringly and smiled compassionately, leaning closer. “Why, my Lord. Why did you have to step in the path of the blade intended for me?” She asked the most arduous question on her mind. 

Thranduil panted, eyes fixed on hers in guileless wonder, “I need you to know…if I die…I want you to know that I loved you…gi melin…”

“As..as a child? As a daughter?” Tauriel had trouble comprehending that he could harbour such intense feelings towards her. 

The elvenking gave a slow, sluggish shake of the head, “I fought it…for long…but I lost. I’m in love with you, Tauriel.”

Tbc

Glossary:

Man agorel – what did you do  
An ngell nin – please  
Mellon nín a hûn – my friend and heart (dear friend)  
Ui el i na dannen ann nín – eternal star given to the fallen  
O’ leithon gurth – to be released from death   
Gi melin – I love you


	4. Dominion

Chapter 4: Dominion

Sitting on a large, cushioned chair, embroidered with golden elkheads, in his council chamber as opposed to the high throne in his halls, Thranduil looked just as imposing and majestic as ever. Perhaps he was not yet as strong as to climb the stairs up there without swooning and falling over given the dangerous amount of blood loss he had suffered recently, but he was determined and convincing enough to preside over his court, sit with his back straight and look upon the gathering in a frivolous manner. “Dismissed.” He announced, slightly nodding his head to emphasize his wish, making advisors and councilors retreat respectfully with haste, all having to corner Tauriel as she walked up to the king, the redhead being reason for the court to be sent away so abruptly. 

“Have a seat, captain,” Thranduil motioned to the chair closest to him Feren had vacated a moment ago. He was measured and composed, movements fluid and regal, ceremonial. If it wasn’t for his pale complexion, thin frame and him slightly leaning to the right to relieve pressure to his injured side, nobody would’ve been able to tell that not a lot more than just a few days ago he had disregarded all calls for custom and laid his soul bare in front of her. Tauriel had no idea what to do with the revelation, and wondered whether the king remembered it at all. He had been at its worse then, at the time when neither the healers nor the elvenking himself held out much hope for survival, right before his poison induced seizure when Tauriel was once more shoved out the way and never asked to return since. 

“Guren glassui seeing you well and up and about, hir vuin.” She bowed respectfully before settling into the seat he had indicated previously. Perhaps if he didn’t remember his own words, the better. “Ci maer?”

“Tired, but well enough,” he admitted, “thank you for your concern,Tauriel.”

“Is the wound healing satisfactorily?” She showed further interest.

“Report,” he prompted aloof, impatient. His hands settled on the table before him, slender fingers slightly distracting Tauriel. 

She knew her king well. Those beautiful hands were looking for purchase, extra security and support, however casual the posture seemed. He was not ready to be out of bed, he shouldn’t have been. “How long have you been up, my Lord? I could assist you to your chambers and give an account of my report on the way.” 

Thranduil turned incredulous eyes at her. “Report.” He repeated, firm and irate.

Tauriel sighed, “the last couple of days have been without major confrontations. Just one small spider, barely an adult, two wargs and a goblin. However, Lenwe’s patrol recounted spotting fell beasts far on the horizon, flying North, probably surveying, like we had been.” She frowned. All these potential threats needed dealt with, but since him getting hurt, Tauriel hadn’t been so keen on suggesting endangering themselves voluntarily as much. 

“Send half-permanent sentries to the site, see if it becomes a regular occurrence,” Thranduil ordered. 

His subject nodded, “yes, your Majesty. I will personally take the first trek out tomorrow to set up camp.”

“No,” he objected quickly, “let your men handle it. I need you here at the caverns to coordinate defenses in case I am not well enough to do so myself,” he maintained.

Tauriel knit her brows. Did he just admit weakness? Not very probable, not at all in fact. It was most likely an excuse to keep her around. But why? Was it because he allegedly loved her and wanted to have her out of harm’s way or was it because she was eventually always trouble when she was sent out on patrol? “Is there anything else? Or are you ready to return to rest now?” She prompted, “I could call for Galion to assist you if you like.”

Thranduil waved her off, “there is something else. The matter is you,” he stated evenly. 

“What have I done wrong now?” The archer defended herself.

“Nothing,” the king was quick to answer, “it is myself who put forward some words that will and should not be repeated in anyone’s company.”

“Ah,” she paused, mulling over the fact that he did remember what he had said, “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she held. And if his colour looked like how he was before his injury, did that mean that he was blushing? Tauriel averted her eyes, self-conscious. “I’m merely a lowly Sylvan elf, it is of no consequence what you say to me in poison induced deliriums.”

“But I wasn’t delirious, Tauriel. I wanted you to know...that if circumstances were different, I would pursue a different path with you. Hence nothing is to change between us.”

“Agreed.” No matter how demeaning his attitude towards Silvan elves was, she had no interest in a love affair with the king. The girl stared right into his eyes, intent. It was now, or never. “But Thranduil,” she called him simply on his given name, as she felt the occasion justified. “Do not ever step in the way of a weapon intended for my peril again, do you hear.” She intoned firmly.

Thranduil leaned back on his seat, smiling deviously. He didn’t deny having done it, not one bit. “You do not order your king around, little elf.”

The End.

Glossary:  
Guren glassui – my heart is joyous  
Ci maer – are you well


End file.
